Regret
by misselthwaite
Summary: A look into Jackson Rippner's inner thoughts during several moments on that fateful flight. Hints of J/L
1. Shame

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. Though I wish I owned Cillian Murphy. :P

**A/N:** Just a little something. Might be part of a multi-oneshot deal, all from Jackson's POV.

Please read and review. It is my first story on FFN.

Enjoy!

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Jackson sighed impatiently, his fingers twitching on the armrest of his seat.

He chanced a glance back over at Lisa. She was still slumped against the airplane window and for a split second, Jackson wondered if he killed her.

It would be funny if he did, Jackson mused. Except for the fact that the job would remain unfinished. And that meant no pay.

He sighed again, the percussion of his fingers growing in tempo. He was restless; he always was when the job was on hold.

But he had to retrieve the book from the old woman. God forbid she read what Lisa had written.

Jackson stifled a snicker at the irony. God had no place in this business. And neither, for that matter, did women like Lisa Reisert.

He let his eyes drift over to her for another second. It was a shame really. She was a deceptively delicate creature. Her porcelain skin was flushed with the heat of her previous tears. Her curly auburn hair lay in disarray around her face and her eyes, if they had been open, would be a mossy green. So very young, so very beautiful.

At first, Jackson had been slightly disturbed over the fact that this job would require the use of this woman, consensual or not. She seemed constantly wide-eyed and lost, like a small child. Yet she was so very strong, so very sure at the same time. It was quite fascinating.

Without consciously realizing, Jackson had reached out to touch her face, almost tenderly. A older woman across the aisle remarked to her husband about the beauty of true love.

Jackson pretended not to hear, but in reality, a frown had furrowed between his eyes. Is that what he seemed? A hopelessly ensnared excuse for a man? He drew back his hand quickly and his nails grazed her face. She stirred then but continued to sleep, four angry marks against her cheek.

Jackson sniffed and bored holes into the back of the seat in front of him, refusing to allow his eyes to stray anywhere else. He would wait until she awoke and he would terrorize her once more until she gave him what he wanted. And that would be it. He'd leave and vanish into thin air. Lisa Reisert and Jackson Rippner would never meet again.

And, he thought resignedly, it really was a damn shame.

---&---

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	2. Lie

Disclaimer: I do not own Red Eye. But I wish I did own Cillian Murphy. :P

A/N: I couldn't help myself. Here's another.

Enjoy!

---&---

She was in the damn bathroom for too long.

Jackson cast several glances back at the bathroom door, waiting for Lisa to emerge. There was a little girl standing there; she was staring right at him, her eyes wary. He fought the urge to snap her out of it, to shake her until her blonde head popped off. Jackson never did like children.

The airphone beeped obnoxiously in his hand, the connection once again established. Jackson looked down at it and decided that his patience had finally run out. Time to go get Lisa himself.

He stood and stalked toward the bathroom, past the little girl. He reached out a hand to open the door when the door opened itself, revealing a startled Lisa.

Jackson looked behind her and saw the hastily scrawled soap message. With a hiss of rage, he grabbed Lisa by the throat and forced her back inside, locking the door.

She just _refused_ to listen! She fought him every step of the way_!_ Unbelievable, the _audacity_ of this woman! He had trusted her to not make another scene and look what he got!

He slammed her against the wall of the lavatory, his face twisted in his anger. She shoved back, clawing at his face, his eyes. Jackson growled and grasped Lisa's face in his hand, yanking her to face him.

He spoke to her then, cruel, hard words that struck exactly where he wanted them to. He finished with a final stab. "Do Dad a favor and stop gambling with his life!" he warned, his eyes wide and manic as they fixed themselves onto her fearful face.

There was silence as they both breathed heavily, trying to ignore the intimacy of their position. Moving his hand, Jackson glanced down at the exposed skin on her chest. The skin was smooth under his fingers but stopped when he met the raised ridge of a scar. He pulled the shirt a little more and saw that there was indeed a scar there, over her right breast.

Jackson froze. Had he missed something? In his eight weeks of surveillance and background checking, did he miss something? He traced the scar lightly, its puckered surface the pale white of a healed wound. His earlier rage abruptly ebbed into a morbid curiosity.

"Did someone do this to you?" he asked. Lisa didn't answer and, taking a guess at the answer, Jackson was suddenly furious again.

He could not understand _why_ he was so angry at the thought of someone else taking a knife to Lisa. But he could imagine it now: a secluded place, a creeping man, and his poor Lisa, her face a mask of terror.

Jackson internally flinched. _His_? Since when did this girl become more than a job?

Then Lisa finally answered. "No," she said, her voice oddly steady. Jackson's eyes narrowed and he knew, he _knew_, that she lied to him again.

But he would find out the story soon enough. And when this whole thing was over, he might have to pay a certain someone a visit for something they did one day, two years ago.

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